


Temet Nosce

by tahirire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s06e11 Appointment in Samarra, Gen, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-25 16:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahirire/pseuds/tahirire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temet Nosce

Temet Nosce

 _I am the way  
I am the light  
I am the dark inside the night  
I hear your hopes  
I feel your dreams  
And in the dark  
I hear your screams  
_

 

When Sam stops finally stops screaming, he falls into a deep sleep. During the sleep comes the fever. During the fever come the nightmares. Dean doesn’t move from that spot for three straight days. He owes it to Sam to be there when his brother wakes up. He owes it to _all_ of Sam; to make sure the wall holds, even if force of will is the only weapon he can use against that terrifying twenty-five percent chance of failure. He wraps his will around Sam like a shield, infuses every molecule of the space between them with an old belief, a belief rekindled by desperation and love into a fire that ignites the air, warm enough, he hopes, to melt the ice of Hell away.

 _You’re stronger than me, you are. You’ll be okay._

When Sam finally opens his eyes, Dean knows without a doubt that he’s looking at his brother. He wants nothing more than to gather Sam into his arms, to never let go; but Sam’s glittering gaze stops him where he stands.

 _You promised you’d leave it alone,_ Sam croaks, throat raw and cracking. Distant thunder follows his voice through the air. _You promised me, Dean._

 

The wall reaches up as far as Sam can see, and disappears off into endless horizons. The dull, bone-white surface seems impassible. Everything around him is shrouded in silence. There is no distant howl, no wind, no _air._

It feels like his soul is holding its breath. Waiting.

 

During his waking hours Sam is quiet. His shoulders lose all sense of gravity and spend most of their time up near his ears, tension coiling through his muscles like snakes until it makes Dean want to scream, shake him, _something_. Until he wants to sit him down and tell him a story about a man who saved the world.

 _It’s over,_ Dean says, trying to sound reassuring. _You’re out, and you’re fine. You’re FINE, Sam._

Sam shakes his head, and for the first time since Dean woke up in that run-down shack and saw him sitting there, _alive,_ there is real sympathy behind his eyes. Sam puts a hesitant hand on Dean’s shoulder, presses his lips together like he’d rather not answer.

 _I’m sorry, man,_ Sam whispers, lightning in his touch, _I’m not._

 

It starts suddenly, a non-sound. Sam feels the thrumming beat vibrate beneath his skin, silent war drums hammering a rhythm deep inside his chest where no one hears. Death’s warning repeats over the notes, playing again and again in Sam’s head.

The sound calls from the other side of the barrier, new silence drowning out the old. Sam grits his teeth and turns his head away.

 

Dean finds Sam sitting in the middle of the cow pasture that borders Bobby’s property. It’s past midnight, and in the darkness, it feels like the whole world is asleep.

Dean comes to a stop beside Sam, wrapping his arms around himself and trying not to shiver. _Jesus, it’s freezing out here. Come inside._

Sam tilts his head minutely, catching Dean’s gaze in his periphery. The moon casts an eerie glow around the hazel rings of his eyes.

 _This is more comfortable,_ Sam shrugs, _I’ll wait here._

Dean frowns. _Wait for what, Sammy?_

Sam looks at the moon, blows a frosted ring of breath into the sky, and doesn’t answer.

 

The wall is not made of flesh or bone. Closer inspection reveals thickly twisted formations woven closely together, stalactites and stalagmites fusing along the midline to form one solid barrier. Sam’s eyes narrow as he scans the surface, but there are no gaps that he can see. He lays a hand on the rocky surface, running his fingers over the crystalline bumps and edges. It’s biting and cold to the touch, but strong.

Sam backs away satisfied for now, grateful to step out from beneath the deadened shadows.

 

They stay at Bobby’s until Sam can stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. Dean doesn’t get a heads-up when it’s time to go, he just comes downstairs one morning to find the car loaded and Sam waiting by the door with a cup of coffee in his hand and a determined look on his face. Neither blends well with the dark circles under his eyes, but Dean doesn’t insult Sam by asking him if he’s ready.

 

The silent call draws Sam back night after night. Somewhere behind the barrier, there is a piece of him. There are answers.

The knobby, corded lines of the wall grow thorns, myriad tiny slivers of crystal that track him when he moves. Death’s booby-trap, set for his own good.

 _Keep away,_ says the breath behind the barrier, and, _come closer._

Sam lays his hand into the rock, feels the pinpricks on his palm in every nerve, like a muscle long fallen asleep. He pushes gingerly through the thorns, testing.

The formation turns to sponge beneath his touch, solidifying again only when he pulls his hand away, leaving bloody smears behind.

 

The muzzle flash goes off well before they’re in position, lighting up the inky warehouse in a sudden ball of flame. Dean swears under his breath and drops into a crouch, waiting for the enraged shifter to charge out of the black and try to take his head off.

Sam walks coolly into the shadows, already lowering his weapon, the tip of the pistol still glowing in the dark.

Dean scrambles to follow _. What the Hell, Sam?_

Sam pulls his flashlight and aims it into a recessed corner made of old pallets and barrels. The halo falls across the shifter, and the light glistens red where Sam’s single bullet pierced the creature’s heart. The boxes are much closer than Dean had imagined them to be. Dean feels his jaw drop. _How did you know?_

Sam frowns, toeing the shifter with his boot before tucking his gun away. Uncertain shadows dance behind his eyes, and he simply says, _I’m not sure._

 

There is no way to tell direction in the landscape of Sam’s mind.

Sam begins to walk along the wall, searching for any section that may look different, testing for weaknesses. He walks for days, weeks, years, until the landscape around him begins to blur and shift. The nothing beneath his feet becomes the blinding glare of scorching desert sand, and the impenetrable rock of the wall shudders and begins to breathe. Sam’s only protection becomes a living organism, hostile and forbidding.

The drumbeats on the other side join with the new wind and the barrier shivers, sighing out blistering currents of air.

 _Come on,_ Sam challenges, facing the dam head-on, _blow already,_ but the whispers don’t answer back.

Sam steps clear of the venting steam as he walks, but he stays near the wall. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

 

Dean is brushing his teeth when he hears a _whoosh_ of air behind him, followed by a startled yell. He spins around in time to see Sam trying valiantly to catch his breath, his back pressed firmly against the wall and his eyes riveted to the angel, more white than green.

Castiel steps forward, and for a second the shadows in the room grow longer. The bedside lamp flickers, and Dean swears he can make out the shadowy outline of wings, see the hissing arch of a cornered lion in Sam’s low, rumbling curse.

Dean spits violently into the sink, dropping his voice into a growl of his own. _Learn to knock, asshole,_ he snaps.

Castiel sets his jaw and settles his weight into his heels. The air in the room returns to normal, and Sam shudders, turning his face away. Castiel opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. He nods sharply in Dean’s direction, apology implied, and then he’s gone.

Sam’s light t-shirt is damp with sweat and his shoulders are shaking as he tries to get his breathing under control. _Seventy-five percent_ , Death had said, and, _nothing lasts forever_.

Dean holds his breath, an icy fist suddenly clinched around his insides.

Sam raises his hands and buries his face. He inhales deeply and lets it out again slow; it’s the only sound in the room outside of Dean’s pounding heart.

 _Dean,_ he says, and for the first time since _you promised me,_ there is fear.

Dean takes Sam’s wrists in his hands, pulls Sam’s hands away from his face. _Right here._ Herealizes that at some point he must have moved across the room, but he couldn’t have said when. _Right here, man_.

Sam nods, twisting his fingers to grip Dean’s wrists back. Dean knows what Sam will say before he says it, clear as a bell from the look in his eyes.

 _Dean,_ Sam says anyway, pleading, _this isn’t living._

 

Sam runs his fingers through the threads of the wall. It feels like fiberglass beneath his touch, prickly and sharp. He curls his hands into fistfuls of the substance, squeezing until his skin lights up with blood. Pain is no deterrent, not anymore. When he starts to pull, the strands come loose with barely audible whispers, drifting gently to the ground and turning to dust at his feet.

 _Sammy, wait._

Sam half-turns to see his brother climbing through the thorns. _Don’t try to stop me, Dean,_ he sighs, too tired to have this argument again. _I need to know what’s on the other side._

Dean reaches the wall, panting from the effort. Shallow cuts blossom across his arms, his chest. This place is a hostile environment. Dean isn’t meant to be here.

 _Dean,_ Sam says again, throat tight with emotions that he can’t put names to, not anymore. _How did you even get here?_

Dean holds up a hand, and Sam falls silent. _Doesn’t matter,_ he answers. _I’m here now._ Dean reaches for the wall, pushing through the cutting threads without hesitation, and wraps his fist around a handful of the stuff. _Let’s do this._

 

Dean wakes up with one hand still wrapped around the mug that held the dream root tea, and one hand curled into Sam’s shirt.

Sam wakes up whole.

 _  
Don't turn away  
Just take my hand  
And when you make your final stand  
I'll be right there  
I'll never leave  
All I ask of you  
Believe  
_


End file.
